


Sweetest Sisters

by gayerthanjew



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayerthanjew/pseuds/gayerthanjew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa starts spending every minute she can with Margaery, excited at the prospect of becoming her sister. She finds herself wanting nothing more than to be close with the future Queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sansa was sure she had fallen into a fairytale. Her life had suddenly become everything she'd dreamed of; everything she'd heard in the stories and songs of her childhood. She had already had plenty of time to practice ignoring the daily threats that lingered around her, and now in the presence of Margaery and her friends it was even easier to forget the liars in King's Landing. Deep, deep in the back of her mind Sansa knew to be wary of everyone, even Margaery, but that thought was so far buried beneath the joys Margaery brought into her life, Sansa couldn't pay it much mind.

Ever since Margaery had mentioned Sansa marrying Loras, and them becoming sisters, Sansa had spent most of her days with Lady Margaery, her grandmother, and her large group of friends, who absorbed her as one of them with open arms. Margaery's ladies tittered around Sansa, admiring her features and going on and on about how she and Loras would make the perfect pair. They would dress her up like a life-size doll, going through a seemingly endless wardrobe of the newest fashions.

All the while Margaery watched on, light flickering in her eyes as she wore that smirk that seemed permanent on her lips, the look of beautiful confidence Sansa wished to understand and replicate all at once. Even when Margaery was deep in conversation with her grandmother, Sansa would sometimes catch her eye, her _sister's_ eye, and she would flush under the approving smile of the older girl.

“Sansa, do me the honor of sleeping in my chambers tonight?” Margaery invited one evening. “Since my marriage to Renly I've gotten used to someone else breathing next to me and just can't fall asleep alone.”

Sansa knew Margaery had company nightly – her retinue seemed to rotate every night which one would fill their lady's bed. Sansa had always wondered what it must be like – she hadn't gossiped before bed with anyone in what felt like centuries – and found herself nodding eagerly at the invitation.

“It would be my honor,” Sansa smiled, feeling her cheeks stretch even further into her smile when Margaery beamed back at her.

That night Sansa found one of her nightgowns already in Margaery's room. Another one of the conveniences of being betrothed to the King, she assumed. _If Margaery had wanted a parade of horses wearing dresses she could have on by the morning_ , Sansa thought to herself, the silly image making her smile.

“What amuses you so, Sansa?” Margaery asked as a handmaid unlaced her dress. Sansa watched the rich fabric fall from Margaery's shoulders as the girl, or young woman really, by the looks of it, shrugged it off.

Margaery was incredibly beautiful – her long reddish brown hair smooth and silky from being brushed, cascading down around her strong yet womanly shoulders, stopping just before her breasts, which were now uncovered as Margaery stepped fully out of her dress.

Sansa realized she hadn't answered Lady Margaery's question, but every recent thought had been washed from her mind as she admired the future queen's features.

“It was nothing, my lady.”

“You know, you're a terrible liar,” Margaery smiled softly as she pulled on her own nightgown. Sansa's response was to turn around to change into her nightwear – not nearly as confident as Margaery when it came to stripping off her clothes. She'd been told she was a terrible liar before, but it did not seem an insult here.

The girls slipped into bed, and Sansa felt her stomach twist with nerves. With only a small candle left lit on the small table next to Margaery's bed, the room seemed large and scary. Then Sansa remembered soon Margaery would be sharing her bed with Joffrey, and a forcible shudder ran through her body.

“Sansa,” Margaery whispered, a hand finding Sansa's arm under the bedcovers. Sansa met Margaery's eyes, dark pools of concern in the low light. “Please, what troubles you?”

_She had spoken freely in front of Margaery before, hadn't she?_ Out in the open no less, a far more dangerous situation than in the privacy of a bedchamber.

“I wish you wouldn't marry Joffrey,” Sansa breathed, waiting for the bed to swallow her up as punishment for the treason. _Maybe she did have traitor's blood._ But the sheets did not strangle her for her wishes, nor did Margaery call for Sansa to be taken away.

“I know, but I am going to. And then I will be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and no one will hurt me, and I will not allow anyone to hurt you.” Margaery soothed her hand up and down Sansa's arm as she spoke. She moved closer to Sansa under the blankets, so that Sansa could rest her head against Margaery's chest. The gesture startled Sansa, but she took immediate comfort in it, tucking her head down so as not to spurn Margaery's kindness and also to hide her shame caused by her fears.

Margaery didn't say anything else, and Sansa didn't dare speak again. She remembered Margaery's words, and all her promises, and let herself believe them because she wanted nothing more than for them to be fulfilled.

 

–

 

As time went on, Sansa found herself growing...jealous. Jealous of Alysanne, and of Elinor, and of all the other girls that would take turns keeping Margaery company at night. Just as Margaery needed someone sleeping next to her, so too had Sansa come to need her future sister's warmth, both physical and emotional, next to her in bed at night. They had taken to falling asleep hands laced together under the blankets, or even pressed together in a sweet embrace. Sansa often wondered if Margaery did the same with the other girls.

Now Sansa gritted her teeth together, setting her jaw like stone when Margaery called for anyone but her. It wasn't fair that Margaery had a litter to pick from, while Sansa was left cold in her own bed most nights, save the precious few Margaery called her to the Tyrell tower.

Tonight, Sansa watched, jaw clenched as Margaery giggled and put her hand on Alyce's arm, insisting that she must join her in her chambers later. Of course Alyce agreed, and Sansa felt her chest sink with disappointment.

Suddenly, Margaery looked her way, catching Sansa off guard and with no time to mask the disappointment written all over her face. She looked down at her plate of food, exhaling slowly as she saw Margaery rise in the corner of her vision. Sansa glanced up at Margaery, who nodded her head in the direction of the hall, indicating for Sansa to join her.

Sansa rose dutifully, feeling as if she were about to be scolded like a child might. _Like Arya might._ The thought made her chest ache, so she quickly forgot it.

Margaery led them silently to a small garden terrace before turning to face Sansa.

“You'll sleep with me tonight,” the future queen said, somewhere between a question and a command.

“Margaery, I –”

“You'll sleep with me tonight,” Margaery repeated, cutting off Sansa's protest with a gentle smile. She cupped Sansa's chin in one of her hands, making sure Sansa looked into her eyes. Sansa trembled, the bubbling emotions in her stomach threatening to break the dam she'd been building for so long.

It had been so long since someone cared for her like this. Margaery was quickly becoming, if not already, the one person in Sansa's life who she truly felt safe with. Safe to express what she was really feeling, safe to speak the truth, safe to smile, to laugh.

Margaery seemed to read it all in her eyes.

“There's nothing to be jealous of, Sansa. If you repeat this to anyone, I'll remain as silent as one of the Silent Sisters, but I much prefer your company over any of those other girls.”

And still cupping Sansa's chin in one hand, Margaery leaned forward and pressed the sweetest, most gentle kiss to Sansa's lips.

Sansa blinked and Margaery had already pulled away, bringing her hand down to take Sansa's.

“Now let's go back before everyone starts making a fuss.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Will you tell me what you prayed for?”

They were already in Margaery's bed, and neither of them seemed able to sleep just yet. Margaery was propped up on one elbow, looking expectantly at Sansa, who was on her back, focusing on a spot on the ceiling.

“Prayed for?” Sansa stalled, knowing exactly what Margaery meant.

“Yes, prayed for. What you're always praying for,” Margaery reached out with the hand that wasn't supporting her and poked Sansa in the side. Sansa squirmed and Margaery chuckled, doing it again until Sansa swatted at her hand and rolled onto her side to face her.

Sansa smiled. Margaery made her do that a lot and it was freeing to feel safe enough to do so. It was intoxicating, actually – like too much sweet wine. Deliciously sweet, like that time Sansa's father let her have an extra cup and she hadn't realized its affect until she stood.

“I already told you, I can't tell you,” Sansa grinned.

“Why not?” Margaery whined playfully, pouting. Sansa wanted to tell Margaery, she really did, but she knew she couldn't.

When Margaery saw that she wasn't going to get an answer out of Sansa, she dropped the pout for a thoughtful smile. Her eyes flickered to Sansa's lips and Sansa didn't miss the look. Suddenly her heart fluttered and the blankets covering them felt stifling.

“Sansa...did I offend you earlier? In the garden?” Margaery asked, and Sansa thought she heard the faintest trace of uncertainty in Margaery's voice. Truth be told, Sansa hadn't stopped thinking about their interaction in the garden. Sansa could still recall the sweetness of Margaery's lips on hers, so unlike the kiss she'd shared with Joffrey a lifetime ago. Both kisses had been chaste, but where Joffrey's had been dull, Margaery's set a spark in Sansa's belly.

She hadn't dared say anything about it – she'd seen Margaery kiss the girls of her retinue on the cheeks and lips plenty – and though Sansa found herself burning with surprising jealousy every time, she assumed it was a southron custom.

“N-no, of course not.” Sansa shook her head, relieved to see Margaery smile confidently again. “In fact I –” Sansa stopped herself. _I what?_

Margaery raised her eyebrows with a questioning hum, and Sansa felt the embers of the spark from earlier start to simmer.

“Have you ever kissed someone before, Sansa?” Margaery asked with a playful smirk.

“I have!” Sansa insisted, not knowing why she felt so defensive, and so hot, too hot under these blankets with Margaery beside her.

“Relax,” Margaery cooed, bringing the arm that wasn't supporting her up once again, but this time to rub Sansa's arm. “I was only teasing. And who's the lucky one you've kissed before?”

“Joffrey.” Sansa answered sullenly. She didn't like speaking his name, and liked it even less now, as it made her think of things she did not want to remember.

“Oh,” Margaery's tone changed as well. “So, is my future husband any talent with his lips?”

Sansa burst into embarrassed giggles. Margaery smiled softly and couldn't help but poke at Sansa's ribs, which made the girl give a little shriek.

“Stop! Don't, oh don't, you're evil,” Sansa begged, swatting at Margaery's hand. Margaery stopped, letting Sansa regain her composure. When she did, Sansa watched her hand, as if she couldn't control her own movements, crawl the short distance between them to take Margaery's hand in hers.

“You have a sweeter touch,” Sansa murmured, unable to look Margaery in the eye. She instead looked at their hands, their fingers lacing together so perfectly. Suddenly Sansa felt like she could cry, and it scared her all the more because she didn't understand.

“Sister,” Margaery whispered, giving Sansa's hand a little squeeze.

But this was not sisterhood, Sansa knew. She knew her and Arya were never this close, nor could they have ever been. Because they were true sisters. And though Sansa knew this wasn't sisterhood, she couldn't give it another name. All she had was what she knew. She knew that she did not want Margaery to marry Joffrey. She knew that she liked spending all her time with Margaery, because she never felt like this with anyone else.

“ _Sister_ ,” Margaery said again, this time almost a plea, so frightening in its desperation to be heard. “Don't be so frightened.” Sansa looked up and found Margaery looking at her, eyes full of concern and care.

Sansa watched, lips parted, as Margaery leaned forward, eyes darting once more to Sansa's mouth before fluttering closed, and Margaery's own lips covered hers.

This time it felt not like a spark, but a full fire, wildfire that tore through her as she closed her eyes and kissed back. Margaery did not pull away like she had in the garden, but kept their hands laced together, kissing Sansa like it was all she wanted for a long time.

The thought made Sansa bite down on Margaery's bottom lip, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from her as well. Worry slashed through the haze in her mind, perhaps she had misstepped, but the worry was gone as fast as it came, as Margaery only kissed her harder.

Just as Sansa started feeling herself want more – more contact somehow, Margaery withdrew, as if she'd remembered something. She tugged her hand back from Sansa's.

“I shouldn't have done that,” Margaery breathed, her chest still heaving.

Sansa watched, torn between utterly curious and hurt. Curious at observing Margaery like this, so raw and disheveled – typically the consistently coy and collected – and hurt at the sudden withdrawal from what she knew to be the best kiss any girl could dream for.

“Margaery...” Sansa, for what felt like the hundredth time was at a loss for words. _What did she want to say? What could she say to make Margaery do that again?_ “Please, Margaery, I'm sorry.”

The apology made Margaery look at her. The older girl smiled wisely and reached out to cup Sansa's cheek.

“Don't be sorry, Sansa. _I_ am sorry.” Margaery paused and Sansa thought she could see the battle to choose the right words being fought across Margaery's brow. Sansa moved almost to kiss the worry from it, but Margaery held her where she was.

“I want, but I cannot have,” she sighed, like it wouldn't be the first time or the last. “To have would be to put too many people I love in danger.”

“But...once you're the Queen...” Sansa said slowly, daring not to let hope into her voice. _What was she hoping for?_

You will marry Loras, and you will love Highgarden. And I will visit you there, and you can visit me here.” Margaery stroked her thumb along Sansa's cheekbone. "And the King will have his whores, and won't miss me when I am late to his bed.”

Tears stung at Sansa's eyes again. Tears for herself, tears for Margaery, tears for her mother and father, sister and brothers. A lifetime of tears she could not let fall anymore.

“Don't cry, my wolf. My brave, sweet wolf,” Margaery leaned forward and kissed Sansa's forehead.

Sansa didn't feel brave, just upset and confused. “I want too, you know,” Sansa said, the words slightly muffled into the fabric of Margaery's nightgown, as the older girl still had her lips pressed to Sansa's forehead.

Margaery laid back down and motioned for Sansa to come closer. Sansa obeyed, settling into Margaery's embrace easily.

“You will have, someday. Maybe we both will,” Margaery whispered, placing a final kiss on Sansa's forehead.


End file.
